


Wise Words

by CourtingInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Draco Malfoy, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character Death, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/pseuds/CourtingInsanity
Summary: Both stuck in a war they didn't start, Hermione and Draco forge a strong bond on the night Dumbledore falls. Written for DFW's Birthday GOGO Fest 2019 for the amazingly wonderful Frumpologist <3





	Wise Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> Dear Frumpologist,
> 
> I absolutely adored your aesthetic prompt and really enjoyed creating this piece for you. I hope you like it! :D 
> 
> Much love xx
> 
> *** So many hugs and good vibes to my alpha, mhcalamas, and my beta, ravenslight for dropping everything to polish this story! ***

It was far past her curfew, but Hermione just didn’t feel right leaving the castle un-patrolled on such a night as this. Ever since Harry had left on his journey with Dumbledore, something felt off, as if the walls themselves knew that the Headmaster had left them unprotected. Hermione wanted to believe, as she had for the past six years, that Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, but that notion was becoming harder to cling to.

 

As she rounded a corner the lanterns sputtered, causing shadows to dance on either side of the corridor. At the opposite end a dark figure was pacing length-ways, darting from one wall to the other. Hermione frowned, a sense of icy dread curling in her stomach as she approached the mystery person.

 

As their mutterings filled her ears, Hermione realised that it was a student. They were dressed in a luxurious fur cloak, which she thought was odd given it was June and they were indoors.

 

“Excuse me,” she said in her prefect, no-nonsense tone, “you need to make your way back to your dorm. It’s—”

 

Cold grey eyes snapped up to meet hers, stopping the words in her throat. Pale blond hair hung limply in his eyes, reflecting the moonlight in a half-hearted sort of way; Draco Malfoy was only sixteen, but he was little more than a shadow of the obnoxious boy Hermione had met in first year.

 

“Malfoy.” She cleared her throat and gripped her wand a little tighter in her hand. “What are you doing here?”

 

Malfoy gulped. He shifted so that he was standing upright rather than the slightly-hunched position he’d frozen in at the sound of Hermione’s voice. His gaze flickered to either side of the corridor before he threw a look over his shoulder, as if he was waiting for someone to come up behind him.

  
Finally, he turned back to Hermione and answered, “I was going for a walk.”

 

“A walk?” Hermione echoed, folding her arms across her chest. “At almost midnight? You’re a prefect; you know as well as I do that—”

 

“I know!” he hissed, mimicking her stance and crossing his arms.

 

The movement shifted his cloak so that it hung closed in the front, making him look like an oddly-shaped lamp.

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Harry had concocted some stupid idea that Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters and was working for Voldemort; Hermione thought the stress of being The Chosen One was taking its toll on her closest friend. Before her stood just a boy struggling with the same pressure they all were, caught in a war none of them had started or signed up for.

 

“Please just leave, Granger.”

 

Hermione blinked. In all the time she had known him, not once had Malfoy ever spoken to her with an ounce of politeness, let alone said _please_.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked, taking a step forward.

 

To her surprise, Malfoy flinched away. His thin form shifted back into the shadows, casting a grey tinge to his pale features.

 

“Don’t touch me!”

 

“I wasn’t going to touch you, you prat!” Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. “You just seem…”

 

“What?” Malfoy was leaning forward slightly, though he was now pressed against the wall as if he was getting ready to pounce or perhaps run away.

 

“Never mind.” Hermione sighed and looked both ways down the corridor. “We should return to our dorms.”

 

Malfoy rose slowly, his back still flat against the stone, straightening until he was once again looking down at Hermione. A voice in the back of her mind told Hermione that she ought to be frightened; Malfoy’s eyes had taken on a sudden spark she had not detected within them for years.

 

“Do you know something, Granger?” he asked, his voice just above a hushed whisper.

 

Hermione frowned. Her stomach gave an unpleasant little flip, and her mental walls instinctively rose around her mind as a force tried to invade it. So Malfoy was a Legilimens; what else had he learned from his Head of House?

 

Fighting to keep her mind clear of such questions and ideas, Hermione shook her head.

 

“No,” she said evenly. “Do you?”

 

The force instantly faded, leaving a slight ache in its wake at the edges of her brain. Hermione fought the urge to rub her temples.

 

“N-no.” Draco shook his head emphatically.

 

For a moment they stood facing each other, searching their expressions without really knowing what they were looking for.

 

“Well then,” said Hermione, breaking the silence, “goodnight, Malfoy.”

 

She nodded once in a way that was probably too stiff to be polite, but it was _Malfoy_ ; the very idea of being cordial towards him was far too weird to consider. Turning on her heel, Hermione marched down the corridor in the direction in which she had come, thinking now of the cozy Gryffindor common room.

 

She had just begun to wonder if Ron would be waiting for her when a cold hand caught her wrist, and she was forced to pivot, narrowly avoiding a collision with Malfoy.

  
“Ow!” she cried, wrenching her arm free and clutching it to her chest. Her skin burned slightly from where Malfoy had gripped it, and she stumbled backwards, realising that he was suddenly in her personal space. “What the—?”

 

“Granger!” he gasped.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened as she took in his appearance. She had thought he looked a bit ill when she had first run into him. His eyes held the same emptiness she had seen time and time again in many of her classmates, teachers, and friends; it wasn’t abnormal… or so she’d thought.

 

“Malfoy?” Her arm rose instinctively, pointing the tip of her wand at him.

 

Wide-eyed, Malfoy’s gaze slipped from her face to the length of wood currently aimed at his chest. For a few moments he stood there, his head bowed as if in contemplation as his unseeing eyes slid in and out of focus.

 

Just as Hermione began to lower her wand, his head snapped up and cold grey eyes met her gaze. They were once again empty, the panic and urgency from half a minute ago disappearing into an eerie calm.

 

“Nothing.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge something from it. “Nothing…”

 

He breezed past her, the soft edge of his cloak grazing the side of her arm. The smell of expensive cologne only just masked the undercurrent of sweaty teenage boy, though Hermione had never stopped to consider that Malfoy possessed the appropriate glands. She wrinkled her nose but continued slowly towards Gryffindor tower, replaying the events over in her mind.

 

Hermione was about halfway to the common room when something in her brain snapped together, like the final pieces of a puzzle coming together to complete the picture.

 

“No…” she whispered, her eyes wide as she came to a standstill on a staircase.

 

_It doesn’t make any sense for Malfoy to know that Dumbledore is away!_ she thought to herself as she rushed back down the stairs.

 

But then why was the blond heading _away_ from the dungeons?

 

Hermione increased her pace as she hit flat ground, breaking into a sprint. Following Malfoy’s direction from the corridor, she soon caught up with him climbing the stairs to the Astronomy tower.

 

“Malfoy!” she hissed, coming to a stop at the bottom of the staircase.

 

He turned quickly, his wand aimed at her face. Hermione would have laughed had she not been in such a state of unease; Malfoy slipped slightly and dropped to the step below, his eyes wide with fright.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, tiptoeing down the stairs until he was standing on the bottom one, towering over Hermione.

 

“I could ask you the same question!” she retorted, gesturing wildly above them. “Last I checked, the Slytherin dormitories were located in the dungeons!”

 

Malfoy smirked, but the expression lacked the lustre it once had. “Fifty points to Gryffindor,” he said sarcastically. “Now kindly leave; I’m waiting for someone.”

 

“Who?” Hermione demanded, pushing past him and beginning to climb the stairs.

 

“Granger!” Malfoy growled and followed her, grabbing her arm again to halt her movements.

 

“Get your hands off of me!”

 

“Go back to your tower!”

 

“Not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing up here!”

 

“Over my dead body!” Malfoy snarled, bringing his face very close to Hermione’s.

 

“That can be arranged!” she spat back, her wand poking into his chest.

 

Malfoy glared down at her, but he wisely snapped his mouth shut. He exhaled forcefully through his nose, and with his breath, the fight seemed to leave him until he was left resting his weight on the bannister.

 

“What are we doing, Granger? What am _I_ doing? I mean, look at me!” His eyes had fluttered closed and his chin lolled on his chest; if she had not known who was speaking, Hermione might have thought he was asleep.

 

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously, lowering her wand.

 

He sighed and addressed his shoes. “This war isn’t even ours.”

 

Such a simple statement, though Hermione could not remember hearing a truer one. They were barely adults, and here they were being expected to fight for a world they had yet to explore or understand.

 

“It wasn’t,” she replied slowly. “It sort of is now, though.”

 

Hermione had not forgotten the way Malfoy had called her _Mudblood_ or the way he belittled those around him for simply being of lesser social standing than he. Perhaps the war hadn’t been started by their generation, but the system of beliefs that underpinned the issues were indeed upheld by them.

 

They were silent for a moment, and Hermione’s gaze fixed on the small strip of indigo sky she could see from her position at the base of the stairs. She thought about the events that had led them to this moment; Hermione, as one of Harry Potter’s closest friends, and Malfoy, as a privileged son of bigoted power-seekers. Did either of them really have a choice?

 

A soft whimpering noise stole Hermione from her thoughts, and her attention was brought back to the hunched blond wizard leaning against the railing.

 

“Malfoy?”

 

He did not answer her, but it was apparent in the way his shoulders shook that he was crying. Hermione bit down on her tongue as the urge to ask _are you okay?_ bubbled within her gut; it was clear that Malfoy was not.

 

She hesitated before reaching forward and patting Malfoy’s shoulder in an awkward sort of fashion. Fully expecting him to shake it off and yell at her for putting her filthy hands on him, Hermione was a little bit shocked when he raised his head and looked her in the eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed, his words lost between his heaving chest and constricted throat.

 

Hermione blinked. Had she woken in Upside-Down Land, where Draco Malfoy was polite and said _please_ and _sorry_? And what was he sorry for, exactly? Was he apologising for years of unfair judgment and undeserved cruelty, or for displaying an emotion other than anger in front of her?

 

Unsure of how to respond, Hermione rested her hand experimentally on his shoulder and squeezed.

 

“I don’t want to do it.”

 

“Pardon?” Hermione let her arm fall back to her side as Malfoy shifted, bringing his hands to his face and using the backs of them to wipe the tears from his blotchy cheeks.

 

“I just need someone to know—” he cut himself off and swallowed thickly.

 

Hermione waited for him to continue but he simply shook his head and cleared his throat. “Malfoy… you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

 

She licked her lips, heart racing. This whole interaction was beyond confusing, and Hermione wasn’t used to not knowing what the correct course of action was. It was disarming and exciting and downright terrifying.

 

She wondered if she’d said the wrong thing when Malfoy scoffed, his familiar sneer slowly sliding back into place.

 

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his gaze flickering up to the tower.

 

“Try me.” Hermione shrugged, attempting an air of nonchalance… as if she wasn’t currently standing at the bottom of the Astronomy staircase in the middle of the night with the poster boy for everything wrong with their society.

 

He chuckled at that, a dark sound Hermione wasn’t used to hearing from him. Sure, he was often cruel and would laugh at anyone’s misfortune, but this was different. It was deeper, more poignant, in a way… and definitely hair-raising in nature.

 

Hermione swallowed thickly but decided not to push the matter. She and Malfoy weren’t friends, and they didn’t owe each other anything. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was anxious about Harry and Dumbledore, Hermione wouldn’t have run into Malfoy at all.

 

At that thought, Hermione wondered if maybe her friend had returned by now, and perhaps was waiting for her in the common room. She shifted, descending to the next step and opened her mouth to bade Malfoy goodnight, but she was once again stopped by his hand curling around her wrist.

 

“Don’t,” he whispered, staring at her with tear-filled eyes.

 

Hermione wrenched her hand free and felt an unpleasant pang of guilt shoot in her belly as Malfoy recoiled away from her.

 

“What’s going on, Malfoy?” she asked, wiping her hand tiredly across her forehead. “First you’re polite to me, and then you apologise, and then you’re crying, then back to snarky…” She paused and licked her lips before meeting his gaze again. “Either tell me what it is that you need me for, or I’m going to bed.”

 

“I—I…” Malfoy gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing discernibly in his throat. “I can’t do this,” he rasped, his voice sounding as though someone had wrapped it in sandpaper.

 

“Can’t do _what_?” Hermione hissed, throwing her arms in the air. Her patience had reached its end, the stress of waiting for Harry culminating with the late hour having zapped it from her system.

 

Malfoy blinked slowly, his gaze boring into Hermione’s. “Kill Dumbledore.”

 

He whispered it so softly that Hermione might have missed it had she not been staring directly at him and seen his lips clearly mouth the words. Shock struck her like lightning, and she gasped, stumbling down the stairs until her spine hit the stone wall beside the staircase.

 

“Malfoy—what—why—?”

 

A loud sob cut off her ramblings, Malfoy now slumped on the first step in a bundle of fur cloak which was quickly becoming soaked with his tears.

 

Hermione stood flat against the wall, her eyebrows reaching skyward as her hands slipped against the rough stone in their futile attempt to grip onto something.

 

“Is that why you’re up here?” she asked in a whisper, indicating the Astronomy Tower with a nod of her head despite the fact that Malfoy was still sobbing openly into his hands.

 

He nodded and Hermione’s eyes grew wide. _Well that explains a few things,_ she thought.

 

“Malfoy…” she said softly, pushing herself off of the wall and moving slowly, robotically forwards until she was standing in front of Malfoy. His cloak brushed against her shins, the soft material oddly comforting. “You don’t have to do it.”

 

Malfoy laughed mirthlessly, the sound more wet than harsh as his throat was still thick with tears. “I don’t have a choice,” he rasped.

 

It was Hermione’s turn to scoff. “Of course you have a choice; you’ve _always_ had a choice.”

 

“That’s so easy for you to say.”

 

“Me?” Hermione shook her head and crouched so she was at eye-level with the helpless-looking blond. “I made the choice to be Harry’s friend. I don’t remember making the choice to be Muggle-born. I was dragged into this war just as you were.”

 

“And I’m a pure-blood,” he said, wiping his eyes and fixing her with an imploring look. “It’s the same, see? I don’t have a choice; if I refuse, not only am I blatantly flying in the face of my family values, but I’m also going against… against _him_.”

 

Malfoy’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, and Hermione suppressed a shudder. “Voldemort?” she whispered. “So Harry was right…”

 

“For once, Potter may not have been completely off-base,” Malfoy acquiesced somewhat reluctantly, though Hermione heard a hint of relief in his tone, as well. She imagined some of the weight had lifted from Malfoy’s shoulders now that he had admitted what was burdening him.

 

“Why not go to Dumbledore?” Hermione spoke quickly. “Surely he’d be able to help you.”

 

“Dumbledore knows.”

 

“Then why—?”

 

Malfoy huffed impatiently. “Why does the old codger do anything?” He lifted his arms, spreading them wide as if addressing a large crowd and offering them an opportunity to answer his rhetorical question. “I don’t know. But while I may not be the top in every class—” he arched a haughty eyebrow at Hermione who rolled her eyes in response “—I’m not stupid; Dumbledore knows everything about what’s going on in this school and what’s happening out there.” He gestured vaguely in front of him. “He knows about the plan. I’m sure of it.”

 

“Even more of a reason to talk to him,” Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

 

Malfoy shook his head, his eyes once again brimming with tears. “He’ll kill them.” His lower lip shook as he turned to face Hermione.

 

“Dumbledore can protect all of you,” Hermione insisted, her hand resting on his forearm.

 

He flinched away immediately, gripping the arm in his opposite hand. Hermione looked at him, noting the way his eyes were round with panic and his nostrils flared, as if he was ready to fight or flee.

 

“Malfoy, you—”

 

“No!” he seethed, jumping to his feet suddenly. Hermione mimicked his movements, holding her hands up in a sign of surrender. “Don’t you get it, Granger?” He held out his left arm, forearm facing upwards and inched his fingers towards the wrist of his knitted jumper.

 

“Malfoy… no…” Hermione shook her head, the blood draining from her face and making her feel dizzy. She knew what he was going to show her before he pulled back the soft material, but that didn’t prepare her for the revealing of the snake woven through a skull, imprinted on Malfoy’s arm.

 

“I’m one of them! I’m his! I’m a—a _Death Eater_!”

 

As quickly as it had appeared, the tattoo was gone, once again covered by the cream-coloured jumper. Hermione swallowed the bile which threatened in her throat, still shaking her head in disbelief.

 

“No, you’re not,” she murmured, but Hermione wasn’t sure whether she was speaking to Malfoy or herself.

 

“I am!” he insisted, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “I took the mark! I’ve sat in meetings! I’ve been given _orders_.”

 

“You don’t have to do it,” Hermione said. “Malfoy, please, I beg you; don’t do it. I’ll go with you to speak with Dumbledore, I’ll—”

 

But the sound of Apparition cut her off. Hermione instantly froze, her brain regurgitating _Hogwarts: A History_ and reminding her that it was impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within the castle or grounds… but then…

 

“Come on, Professor. I’ll take you to Madam Pomfrey.”

 

_Harry!_     

 

Malfoy looked as shocked as she did, but he was the first to react. He stood straight and began creeping up the stairs.

 

This time, Hermione caught _him_ by the wrist.

 

“Let go!” he hissed, tugging his arm free.

 

“Don’t do it, Malfoy!” Hermione shook her head, her gaze imploring. “He can help you!”

 

“I’m a Death Eater, Granger.” Malfoy shook his head and rubbed at the sleeve of his left arm subconsciously. “In this story, I’m the bad guy; I have played the part. I don’t have a choice.”

 

“The world isn’t made up of good people and Death Eaters!” Hermione responded desperately, tip-toeing up the stairs until she was standing on the step below Malfoy. “It’s not about the meetings or the orders, Malfoy; what matters is who you are… in there.” She poked him in the chest with a hesitant index finger.  

 

Malfoy seemed to crumple under the weight of her words. He opened his mouth to respond but then snapped it shut again, exhaling through his nose in a long, even breath. When he looked back up at her, his expression was determined.

 

Triumph pounded in Hermione’s chest, and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her features as Malfoy took her hand in his and tugged gently, leading her up the stairs. Before they made it to the landing, however, a noise from below halted them in their tracks.

 

Before Hermione could even look to Malfoy to question what was going on, they were joined by a frazzled looking Harry and forced into the alcove just beneath the landing. An unpleasant sensation washed over Hermione before she could open her mouth, and she was suddenly rendered incapable of movement.

 

Huddled together but unable to look at one another, the trio watched on helplessly as a group of Death Eaters marched past them, led by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione would have gasped seeing Professor Snape among them had she not been under a binding spell.

 

“Good evening, Bellatrix.” Dumbledore’s calm voice seemed distinctly out of place in such a context.

 

“Where is Draco?” the crazed witch hissed. Her heeled boots made a methodical _thud, thud_ sound as she paced.

 

“Mister Malfoy? I haven’t seen him today.”

 

There was something wrong with his speech, Hermione decided as she continued to listen to the conversation. Dumbledore sounded tired, as if the cheery politeness was forced. As if he was exhausted. She longed to turn to Harry and simply raise her eyebrows in question or to reach out and feel him squeezing her hand in reassurance. She wanted him to mouth that it was okay, that this was something he and Dumbledore had discussed…

 

“I’ll do it!” Bellatrix was now shouting.

 

“No!” Snape interjected. “The task was given to Draco.”

 

“He’s not here,” Bellatrix all but whined. “The Dark Lord just wants him dead, nevermind whose wand is to blame!”

 

“The Dark Lord trusted Draco; he’ll be here.”

 

“Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice had finally broken, and Hermione felt her heart go with it; the Headmaster had never been anything but a strong, quiet figure in her mind and to hear him so weak, so vulnerable, so helpless… “Please…”

 

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

 

A cold sweat broke out along Hermione’s forehead, her hands clammy as she clenched and unclenched her fists; she could move again.

 

But that meant…

 

_No…_

 

Hermione’s eyes filled with burning tears, but as she looked to Harry she knew that now was not the time to fall apart; her friend needed her.

 

“We have to go, Harry,” she said. “Come on!”

 

She gripped the back of his knitted jumper and tugged, forcing him to follow her, clattering down the stairs in the wake of a cackling Bellatrix and her band of Death Eaters. Malfoy followed them, his expression hard. Hermione wondered if she could trust him; would the events that had just transpired solidify his decision to turn his back on Voldemort, or would it scare him back into submission?

 

As she wondered, Hermione’s grip on Harry slackened, and as they reached the corridor he took off at a sprint.

 

“Harry, wait!” Hermione called, desperately pushing herself to run after him.

 

It was no use; he was much faster and seemingly fueled by a deep rage. Hermione was simply burnt out.

  
“Let him go.” Malfoy had come up behind her, gazing down the now empty corridor.

 

Hermione tried to form a response. She wanted to tell him that Snape would probably kill Harry, just as he had killed Dumbledore. And if Snape didn’t kill him, Bellatrix would gladly do the honour… But the exhaustion from the evening kept her from making a sound and frustrated tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

 

“They won’t hurt him,” Malfoy murmured. He was standing so close his breath ghosted through her hair as he spoke, the warmth from his chest tangible against her back. “The Dark Lord has forbidden it; he wants Potter alive, and not tonight. He’ll be okay.”

 

Hermione believed him, though she was unsure where this sudden trust in Malfoy had sprung from. In lieu of an answer, she nodded to indicate that she understood before continuing down the corridor in a robotic sort of way.

 

* * *

         

The hiking trail was empty except for a few brave birds who fought valiantly against the wind a few feet above their heads. Rain sloshed down from the heavens as if the angels were having a serious water fight using giant buckets in place of the customary squirt-guns.

 

“Draco!” Hermione called to the sodden back of her pale-haired boyfriend. She wanted to go home; why he’d insisted on hiking with the clouds as black as they were, she couldn’t understand.

 

He didn’t turn around, however, and pushed on further into the woods. It was a familiar trail, one they’d taken to walking almost every Sunday morning for the past few years. Neither had found a lot of peace straight after the war which spelled the end of Lord Voldemort and the animosity between them, but out here when it was just the two of them, they could pretend life was simpler.

  
As the war faded more and more into the background, the walk continued out of habit rather than a deep-rooted desire to escape. Hermione was happy to keep up the tradition, but she was unsure why Draco had dragged her here on a Friday evening.

 

She called his name again, and the pure exasperation in her voice seemed to get through to him this time. He stopped just as he reached the peak of the hill which looked out over their small wizarding town just outside of Wiltshire. The roof of their cottage could be seen from here… well, on days when the weather wasn’t conspiring against their survival.

 

A sheet of water blocked most of the view, with only small bubbles of light weakly peering through the mist.

 

“What?” Draco asked. He stood with his head cocked to the side, his eyes squinted almost shut to keep the rain out. His grey shirt was plastered to his fit physique, and Hermione swallowed thickly as she forced herself to look into his face.

 

“It’s cold and wet,” she stated, somewhat feebly. “Can’t we go home?”

 

“Home?” Draco grinned but Hermione noticed the expression wobble before it settled uncertainly into place on his face.

“Yes.” Her teeth chattered, and she folded her arms across her chest in a futile attempt to keep warm.

 

Draco ran a hand through his sopping wet hair, pushing the pale blond strands back in a way that reminded Hermione of how he used to wear it when they were in Hogwarts. She bit back a smirk as she came to stand next to him on the hill.

 

“You know I love the view normally, but it’s too wet to see anything. And I’m starving.” She turned to look at him again, intent on persuading him with the promise of ordering his favourite dishes from the pub around the corner from their home, but at the look of panic on his face, Hermione froze. “Draco?”

 

He released a long breath and avoided eye contact. Shuffling from foot to foot, he forced his hands into his pockets and scrunched them there. “I want to say something first.” He spoke so quietly that Hermione had to lean forward to hear him over the rain.

 

“Okay… is it something you can’t say at home, or—?”

 

“Look, Hermione, I know it’s wet and cold and awful, but I’ve had this planned for a really long time so can we just cast a warming charm or something? Please?” He added as an afterthought.

 

Hermione’s eyes grew wide, and her heart began to thud manically in her chest. “O-okay?”

 

Draco sighed again, quickly casting a drying charm over the both of them before angling his wand up to form an umbrella over their heads. Now dry, Hermione was able to focus more on what he was saying… or wasn’t saying.

  
“Is everything okay?” she asked. “Between us, I mean?” She gestured feebly between them, heat blooming in her cheeks.

 

They had definitely had more than their fair share of ups and downs over the last few years, but she had thought they were in a good place at the moment. She had even considered…

 

Draco chuckled and reached out, his thumb and forefinger latching on to one of her curls and tucking it behind her ear. He took a step forward, his eyes locked on hers. “Of course, love,” he said softly. “I just… I wanted to ask you something. Well, first tell you something, then ask you something.”

 

Hermione grinned; she couldn’t remember the last time Draco had seemed so nervous.

 

“Hermione,” Draco said, filling his lungs with far more air than anyone should need to speak, “I love you. For a long time I was scared of my feelings for you, knowing that I didn’t deserve to love you or be loved by you.”

 

Hermione opened her mouth to interject, a frown on her face, but Draco held up a hand and shook his head. “As much as I like it when you defend me from myself, I really just need you to listen.” Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded once, and Draco continued.

 

“I still don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I promise to spend the rest of my life trying to earn what I’ve been lucky enough to receive. Hermione…” He licked his lips quickly and dropped to one knee in front of her.

 

His grey eyes bored into her own, and Hermione felt rather than heard the gasp that left her chest, rendering her speechless and slightly dizzy.

 

With a flick of his wrist, a small, red velvet box appeared in the palm of his free hand, and with some difficulty, Draco opened it with thumb and forefinger. It wobbled slightly before settling upright, bearing a simple white gold ring with a deep blue sapphire stone. “Will you marry me?”  

 

She wasn’t sure when she had begun to cry, but tears were running unchecked down her cheeks in warm rivers of emotion. Too choked up to reply properly, Hermione nodded her head emphatically and let out a half sob, half giggle as Draco grinned and stood.

 

He dropped the spell keeping the rain off of them as he took her left hand and placed the ring on her finger, but Hermione found that she wasn’t as bothered by the cold now. With the ring in place, she threw her arms around his neck and brought her lips to his in a searing kiss.

 

“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth when she could speak again.

 

“I love you, too.” He rested his forehead against hers, his warm hands on her waist. “You know, I owe you more than you will ever know. If you hadn’t found me that night, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

 

“You’d be right here,” Hermione said firmly. “The world isn’t made up of good people and Death Eaters and—”

 

“I know,” he cut her off with a slightly exasperated smile.

 

“Good.”

 

For a moment they stood there, quite lost in each other’s gaze until the cold overtook them and they were once again soaking wet and shivering.

 

“You had to bring me here to propose!” Hermione giggled as Draco pulled away and took her hand, leading her back down the path.

 

“It was meant to be romantic,” he muttered. “I didn’t plan on the rain.”

 

“It was perfect.” Hermione squeezed his hand as she navigated the muddy ground.

  



End file.
